Page 3 of Darro

“Uh-oh,” Jake whispered. “Lies and literature to go with the pretentious badges. Maybe he wants to save our souls by having us worship the sun.”

Esme arched a brow at him. “You have a soul? Really?”

“You’re being given a map of the interior that shows the areas we’ll be showing on the tour tonight,” Beaumont said. “The passages on the first floor are clearly marked, and you’ll be escorted in groups of six. At the end of the tour we’ll hold a brief presentation about the castle’s history in our second level conference room.” As everyone reacted with mutters and scowls he held up his hands. “I’m sure you know how many people have gone missing inside the castle over the years; it’s the reason I closed the property to the public. Your personal safety is very important to me. Also, please do not remove or lose your security pass badges. Anyone who does will be turned over to the police.”

“Nit-picky asshole,” Jake said, looking almost disappointed. “So, Hot Stuff, want to join my group and maybe go a little astray with me? I won’t let the big bad castle nibble on you.”

“Sorry.” She’d heard the stories from her female co-workers about how Jake was a big womanizer who couldn’t keep his pants zipped, so she had no problem with refusing. “My gangster boyfriend wouldn’t like it.”

Before he could argue the point she joined the queue entering the front hall, and ended up in a group of web writers. Unlike most of her contemporaries, she had no qualms with the amateur journalists, many of whom often produced content that was as informative as it was entertaining. She knew how competitive the media could be, and didn’t begrudge anyone for taking an untraditional route in their career. She was surprised, however, that Beaumont had invited them.

“I wish Harper wasn’t over in Europe right now,” one young woman said to her companion. “She let me take her place because she couldn’t make it back to the states in time to do this.” Her gaze shifted to Esme. “You know Harper Ensley?”

“She’s the paranormal vlogger, right?” When the girl nodded Esme thought for a moment. “Yeah, sure. I watched her piece on the Loch Ness monster. She’s very good. Funny and spooky.”

“Isn’t she the best?” Her friend’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “She couldn’t do McKeran’s without video, though. I wonder what Mr. Beaumont’s real reason is for refusing to let us film in here.”

Esme suspected what Jake had surmised about Beaumont wanting to put the castle up for sale might be true; the front hall had been emptied of furniture and paintings she remembered from her childhood visits. It now contained only some dead insects, tracked-in dirt and dusty cobwebs. The latter made her shudder, as spiders were the bugs she hated and feared most. Some of that dread had been passed down to her from her grandmother, who had regarded them as bad omens. Like many Mexicans she believed spiders brought the spirits of the dead from the underworld to warn the helpless of impending doom. Esme knew that the old myth was irrational, and yet still couldn’t shake her dread of the creepy crawlies.

I’m not here for the spiders, she reminded herself as she followed the group to the first passage. I want to find out what happened to all those people.

Maybe she would even get to see the warrior again.

Carmen Martinez had always taken Esme with her on the nights she was sent by the maid service to work at McKeran’s Castle. As long as her granddaughter behaved, her employer didn’t mind, and she knew Esme loved the castle. Whenever they came, a security guard would escort Carmen inside, where she would vacuum and mop all the floors, and dust all the rooms that the public visited on the tour. She would first warn Esme to stay close and not touch anything.

You don’t want the ghosts to take you away to their world, mija. They’re kind but lonely. You can see it in the warrior’s eyes.

The warrior Carmen referred to was a painting that had been hidden in a small storage room on the lower level where all the cleaning supplies were kept. She’d found it on one of her shifts while she’d run out of bags for the vacuum. The faded, chipped portrait, which had been painted on the back stone wall, had been covered by a long, wool plaid hung in front of it. The material finally dry rotted off the hook that held it and dropped to the floor, revealing the warrior’s face.

Even as a little girl Esme had been mesmerized by his soft dark eyes, which seemed to follow her wherever she went in the room. If there could ever be a man who seduced with a single look, it was this one. He wore his light brown hair cropped short, and had a dent in his full lower lip that matched the one in his chin. As a tween she had often imagined receiving her first kiss from him, and knew it would be perfect. Judging by the span of his shoulders, the tops of which had been suggested by a few brushstrokes, he had been a big, strong guy, too. The most fascinating thing about him was the look on his face, which seemed so filled with longing that it always made her throat go tight. Whatever he had been looking at, he’d wanted it more than anything else.

Now that’s the kind of man you want, mija, Carmen would say with a sigh. One who only looks like that at you.

According to her grandmother, her son and Esme’s father, Juan Martinez, had been like that with her mother. A mechanic who specialized in repairing farm equipment, her papi had cut himself while removing a rusty part from a tractor. His employer told him the wound was just a scratch and not to worry about it. Juan had been a strong, proud man, which made it all the more shocking for Inez when he suddenly collapsed and died from sepsis. Esme had been only a month old at the time.

The poison from that part got in his blood, and killed him.

Hoping to avoid a lawsuit, Juan’s employer had offered a generous settlement to Esme’s mother. Inez accepted it, but she had been too grief-stricken to recover from losing her husband, and passed away six months later in her sleep. That made Esme an orphan before she could walk, but there had been no question of her going into foster care.

“That’s what family is for,” Carmen would always say. “We take care of each other no matter what happens.”

Her elderly grandparents had used the settlement from their son’s death to buy a small house where they could raise her. Esme also had been blessed to be born into a big, tight-knit family, and her aunts and uncles had helped care for her throughout her infancy. When she was old enough to go to school her grandfather would walk her there every day after he got off work as a nighttime security guard, and Carmen would pick her up after school and take her with her to her cleaning jobs. From that point on her grandparents had been strict about grades and studying, promising Esme that education was her way out of poverty.

Use your brains, mija, Carmen would say, and you can do more than clean houses and guard warehouses.

An assignment to write an article for her high school’s newsletter had subsequently awakened Esme’s passion for writing. Her grandfather, who had Esme read the newspaper to him every day to improve his English, had thought her natural curiosity would make her a fine reporter, and encouraged her. He’d died of a heart attack during her senior year, which only fueled Esme’s determination to pursue journalism as a career, so she could make him proud. She’d worked hard to earn a full ride scholarship to California Polytechnic State University, and her grandparents and the rest of the family had contributed to cover her living expenses, so she hadn’t been forced to take out a student loan. Esme had graduated top of her class, and had interned for six months at the Los Angeles Times. She might be working there now as a reporter if her grandmother hadn’t been diagnosed with stage four breast cancer near the end of her internship.

You should go back to the paper, mija, Carmen had tried to insist. The family will look after me, and I’ll be fine.

Esme had taken a copywriting job at Monterey Today that allowed her to work from home and set her own hours. That had given her the time she needed to take Carmen back and forth to the hospital for her chemotherapy treatments, which slowed the cancer’s progress. The oncologist made it clear that a cure was unlikely, however, and recommended that she spend as much quality time with her grandmother as she could. It took two more years for the cancer to kill Carmen, but Esme made sure she spent every day doing something to make her happy. They laughed and made wonderful meals together, and when the end came Esme took all the vacation she had saved up to be with her around the clock. It had only taken a week in hospice for her grandmother to slip away in her sleep. Her death had been peaceful for both of them, and Esme knew she would always remember the last thing Carmen had said to her.

Your mama and papi would be so proud of you, Esmerina. I will tell them everything when I meet them in heaven.

After the funeral Esme considered returning to LA, but when she’d come back to work Ron had become editor-in-chief, and asked if she was interested in becoming a full-time reporter to replace Jake, whom he had just fired. Although she knew she’d have better opportunities for advancement down south, the love of her extended family and the tug of the familiar convinced Esme to accept his offer and stay in Monterey. She had been tempted to give her notice a dozen times since then, but then she would think about all her research on McKeran’s Castle. Then two years ago a doctor had gone missing while taking the tour, and Renard Beaumont had promptly closed the castle to the public, stalling her progress.

I know I can solve the mystery if I can just search the place.

Now walking through the castle Esme had the sense of moving back in time to her childhood, not the twelfth century. It wouldn’t have surprised her to see her grandmother appear with a dust rag and her vacuum, her long silver-black hair covered by a pretty bandanna. Her imagination aside, there was actually very little to see, just as Beaumont had said. All the furnishings, paintings and curtains in the rooms on the tour had been removed, leaving only the empty fireplaces, cobwebbed walls and dusty stone floors.